


Stuck in a lift

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt. Florence and Isa get stuck in the lift of their hotel, somewhere in America. Predictably, Florence gets a little panicky and Isa has to be the rational one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck in a lift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heavenly-rushh](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=heavenly-rushh).



> This is one of the prompts I received when I reached 100 followers and it was left by heavenly-rushh. I’ve decided that I will do prompts again when I reach 200 but that’s pretty far in the future considering I’m only on 130 now.
> 
> The most ridiculous thing about this fic is that I actually got stuck in a lift today. But it was for like, 2 minutes and I was by myself so nothing cute or shippy could come of it.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think please xxx

They have a little routine when they tour North America. After breakfast, they go for a run – although the term is used loosely as they stop to take pictures of anything interesting along the way.

Today, after the run, they go back to their hotel rooms to shower and change into better clothes: double denim for Isa (she rocks it, somehow) and floral chiffon dress for Florence, in her patented colour combination of rusty oranges and burgundy. The plan is find somewhere nice to have lunch, just the two of them – it’s nice to be split up from the others during the day, and sometimes it doesn’t even register that tonight they all will be back at work, playing music to a few thousand people.

Their room is on the 15th floor. They’re descending towards reception in semi-silence, Florence never able to resist her impulse to hum at any given opportunity. Just as the number on the counter above the doors turns to 8, the lift stops with a jolt and everything stills.

Florence looks around, mildly confused, noticing Isa has gone up to the buttons and is pressing the G again. The lift doesn’t move. Isa presses again, two or three times, getting more forceful with each push, but with no results whatsoever.

Florence is growing more uncomfortable with every passing second.

“Press the alarm, Isa, press the alarm,” she says, frantic.

Isa pushes the bright yellow button, and a faint ringing is heard around them. It doesn’t sound very strong at all, but it might just be that they’re trapped in concrete and steel and it’s shutting out the noise. Hopefully it’s louder on the outside.

Still fairly calm, Isabella reaches for her phone, but of course it has no signal. These are thick doors – if she stood next to them they’d probably be thicker than her; she and Florence are effectively blocked from calling or texting anyone.

“Okay,” Isa finally admits, placing the phone back in her pocket, “this might be a while.”

Florence is looking up at the ceiling and before she even says anything, Isa knows what she’s thinking.

“Don’t even think about it. This is not a film. And I’m not hoisting you up.”

“I can’t even see a trapdoor, to be honest, but there’s bound to be one. There’s always one, you know, in films.” Flo insists, eyes still fixed upwards.

“Florence, sit down and relax.” Isa commands. “Listen – the alarm is still ringing. We won’t be here forever.”

“What if we are, though? This is _not_ how I had envisioned dying.” Florence has always had a propensity for the dramatic. Everything to her is doom and gloom and the end of the world. Isabella only puts up with it because in a way, it’s cute, and she gets a kick out of keeping Flo on a more rational, sensible path.

“Come on, sit down,” she repeats, slumping in one corner of the lift. Florence does the same in the adjacent corner, twisting and turning her hands in her lap, and facing the front door anxiously.

“I suppose if I tried to pry them open I wouldn’t get very far,” she suggests.

Isa gives her a death glare. “Four inches of steel? No offense, Flo, but you have the upper body strength of a child.”

“You’renot _helping_!!” Florence whines.

“Come on, Flo,” Isa decides to change tactics, and keeps her voice level and reassuring. “Take my hand. We’ll be fine.”

Florence sticks her right arm out and Isa her left, until their fingers touch and intertwine. It helps, a little, but Florence would never admit as much. She turns her head away from Isa, looking down.

“I’m trying to decide what’s my biggest regret if I do die today,” she declares, like she’s talking to the floor, “aren’t you? How can you be so calm??”

Isabella actually has a response to that question. It’s like Florence has served it to her on a silver platter.

“My biggest regret is that we’ve never properly kissed.” She blurts out before she changes her mind. She _does_ mean it, so she doesn’t grin or even just smile when she says it, in fact, it almost sounds a little croaky, insecure.

Florence is suddenly jerked back to attention, turning towards Isa and exclaiming, “What do you mean we’ve never properly kissed? We’ve kissed _loads_!”

“Yes, but it was always for play. I mean for _real_.” Isa lowers her voice, even though there’s no one there who can overhear, and looks up at Florence, her grey eyes widened and serious. “I do want to kiss you for real, you know.”

Isabella, loud, brash, exuberant Isa Machine, is acting _shy_. Now that’s a sight Florence never thought she’d see.

“You can kiss me _now_ if you want. I have no objections.” Florence states matter-of-factly.

Isa wishes Flo wouldn’t look so apathetic saying that. It would be nice if she actually gave a damn.

“You should be so lucky. It takes the magic away if you plan it.” Then, when her fingers accidentally brush Florence’s wrist and she realises just how quick her pulse is at the moment, she adds, “But I’m happy to spoon you. What are you doing all the way over there?”

With a gentle tug on her arm, Isa convinces Florence to crawl over to her. It doesn’t quite work as well as when Florence is the big spoon, because Isa is just a little too short and Florence’s legs take up a lot of space, but a lot of things about their relationship are awkwardly wonderful like that.

“My biggest regret is that I haven’t played the Pyramid stage at Glasto…” Florence mumbles.

Perfectly understandable, but Isa still feels jealous. She remains silent and swallows her pride.

There’s little droplets of sweat forming just above Flo’s cleavage and her breathing is shallow. _Bless her, she really is scared._

With the one arm she has around Florence, Isa pulls her closer so she’s resting in the hollow of her neck, and as she relaxes her hold, she brings up her fingertips to casually brush Flo’s left temple. She kisses the other.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Flo, and Isa will never know if it’s fear, or something else.

The lift jerks again; the floor shakes, and their bodies with it. Florence flinches and grips Isa’s hand.

“We’re moving, Flo. It’s all good.” Isa says, sweetly. She gives Florence’s shoulder a little squeeze and starts to pull away and compose herself as they complete their descent to the ground floor.

Florence rises to her feet and smooths the invisible creases on her flowy dress, still silent and a little shocked. When the doors slide open, she steps out first, striding through the reception hall like nothing happened.

Isa stays behind and actually talks with the two members of the hotel staff who were waiting to see who had rung the alarm and if they needed anything.

“We’re ok, thanks,” Isa says, not really looking at them. Her eyes stay trained on Florence’s figure, quickly proceeding towards the exit. “I’m sorry, but I need to catch up with my friend before she leaves without me!”

She closes the distance between herself and Florence just in time to get into the revolving doors with her.

“Hey. You ok?” She asks, putting an arm around Flo’s waist.

Florence brushes away a solitary tear and nods with a sad smile.

She is so sensitive, it makes Isa very aware of having a fierce protective streak. It only ever seems to come out when Florence is involved, somehow, and it surprises her.

They step out into the muggy heat and blinding sunlight, and start retracing the steps to the cajun restaurant they spotted this morning during their run.

“I think you could use a drink, Flo,” Isa says, concerned. “I know we’re not really supposed to, but we can make an exception. And we’re eating, as well.”

Florence nods, absent-mindedly. Isa wonders what she’s thinking right now: she’s moving almost automatically, not taking in any of the scenery as she usually would.

They take a turn into yet another ridiculously wide street, lined in white oleander, with yet another ridiculously wide pavement – or maybe things just seem bigger to Isabella because she’s so tiny. They can see the specials board in the distance, and there are tables outside, under a gazebo.

Florence suddenly takes Isa’s hand and stops dead in her tracks.

“What’s wr-”, Isa begins to say, but she can’t finish the sentence because Florence has leaned in to kiss her. And not just for play this time, by the looks of it.

Isa thinks that she was right wanting to wait for magic, because she was not expecting this. It takes her breath away and it makes her insides flutter with lust. She feels like she’s 14 again as she smiles into the kiss.

She’s gonna need a new biggest regret.


End file.
